xp_logs | Fifth Column: The Storm Clears

Various moments in the aftermath of a long day.

The ruins of the factory weren't precisely silent, now that the fighting was done, but there was a degree of calm that had not been there even scant minutes ago. The last of the terrorists had surrendered, and both the conscious and the unconscious were currently being taken into custody. There was something existentially unsettling about watching the Hungarian version of a SWAT team putting inhibitor collars on mutants and bundling them into the back of police vans, especially when one was on the side of the police, but it was a distasteful necessity. Nathan had made some comment to Jean about not wanting to know what arrangements would have to be made in prison before stumbling off to check on "something," he'd mumbled, clearly meaning Carly Alvarez.

Jean herself was a little too tired to go poking about, instead she settled on to a large and mostly stable piece of wall. A quick check showed that the temporary bandage she'd gotten around her arm was working well enough although she knew sooner or later she should go hunt down a medic to get it wrapped using two hands, for all that TK worked as an adequate substitute.

Two police officers led a struggling young woman past her. The girl -she couldn't have been more than eighteen - spotted Jean, and her eyes widened in angry recognition. "Traitor!" she cried out, fighting the police harder. Her accent was British, yet another example of just what a mixed bag the "Hungarian" terrorists had turned out to be.

Jean looked up at the yell and then sighed. "You know, I'm really getting tired of that word, and the people who use it."

"You know - you saw, you met her, and yet you fought with them, against us!" The girl was all but frothing at the mouth, and the officers didn't seem sure whether they should be dragging her off or waiting to see precisely why she had such a problem with one of the American 'consultants'. One of the officers, visibly nervous, reaching out a hand to check the lock on the inhibitor collar the girl was wearing. She promptly tried to bite him.

Arching an eyebrow at the girl, Jean watched her for a moment, then slowly stood up and walked closer, steps careful and measured. She had a good half foot of height on the girl so she towered over her when she stopped in front of her, practically looking down her nose. "I did, yes," she said, and there was an amused air to her tone. "I even trained with her. And so you might want to reconsider which of us would know better what side she would think ought to be supported."

The girl looked stricken, but only for a moment. The fanatical light blazed afresh in her eyes, and she all but spat out her next words. "Tara saw more - she understood what she saw! You didn't learn anything! It wasn't about pointless, unrealistic idealism!"

It took a serious effort of will for Jean not to roll her eyes. "I will say this once more, and this time I'll use smaller words. Trask is a fanatical whack-job who wouldn't know true Askani teachings if the Mother herself deigned to show up and give them to her. Which, let me point out, she never did."

"I know what the truth is," the girl ranted, struggling again with the two officers. "I know! And I won't forget! They can lock me away, and I'll sit in my cell, laughing, until it all comes true! My jailors will die because they're weak, and you'll die, because you chose to be weak!"

"Oh, god, I can't take any more of this," Jean said with a growl. When her hand flashed out the cops probably thought she was going to slug their charge, although if so the idea clearly didn't bother them much, but all the red-head did was wrap her hand around the girl's upper arm, the brief skin contact making it that much easier for her to overwhelm what few psychic defenses the girl had and knock her out. "At least she'll be easier for you two now..." she said to the cops.

They looked unutterably relieved, both of them.

---

It had only made sense for Clarice to pitch in and help with first-aid in the aftermath; there were a lot of people, police and terrorists alike, injured in a number of different ways, and only so many paramedics to go around in the ruins of the factory. Her latest patient was a young officer whose leg had been gashed nearly to the bone, the parallel lacerations looking very much like claws marks - if claws that had been able to slice right through body armor like butter.

Although he was pale and sweating, he managed a weak smile as she bent over him. "Eventful evening, yes?" he said, his English accented but perfectly understandable.

"'Eventful' is one way to put it," she agreed, making sure the wound was disinfected before she bandaged it. One of the paramedics had stopped the bleeding and she was going to bandage it until he could get to a hospital, "Not really my kind of event though. I prefer to party. Do you?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, as if sorting through her words. "Sometimes," he said, his breathing labored. "Soccer. I play. Not for a while now," he added more wryly, his semi-focused gaze flickering down to his injured leg.

No...probably not, she agreed silently. Not for a while...if ever. "Well, you can come to my party, you're invited." She was willing to invite everyone for the blow out bash. "If you're up and about anyways," there was a good change he might not be.

One of the older members of the SWAT team appeared. He didn't appear to have more than bruises, although he was moving stiffly as he knelt down on the other side of his prone teammate, saying a few words in Hungarian that sounded gently teasing as he reached out and squeezed the younger man's shoulder. He got another weak smile in response. "Thank you for looking after him," he said to Clarice. "And thank you for what you did back there as well."

"Huh?" Not the most intelligent response perhaps, but Clarice didn't know what she had done. There had been a lot, none of which seemed to be that noteworthy in the grand scheme of things. After a moment she shrugged, "Just doing my job," she replied, "Both inside and now. I'm certified as an emergency medical technician in the US," she said, just in case he wasn't sure about her medical expertise.

He waved a hand, uncertainly. "When you... removed, the hostiles," he said, then cracked a tired smile. "I still have a head on my shoulders. I might not have without your help."

"Well, if your head wasn't on your shoulders you'd look funny." She brushed the compliment away, "I didn't like those guys shooting at you. Or anyone else. I didn't kill them though, I just sent them somewhere else. They'll get home eventually..." Maybe.

"Where did you send them?" He looked honestly curious. The younger cop was watching them both, listening doggedly as if determined to get his mind off what Clarice was doing to his leg.

"Caspian sea. Right in the middle," she replied absently, pulling the bandage taunt against his leg. "Hopefully, they can swim." That hadn't occurred to her. Oh well, their own fault for shooting at her. It was no worse than dropping them in the Himalayas without winter clothing or any number of other things she could have done.

"But.. the Danube was closer," the younger man protested, looking bewildered. The older cop looked down at him, blinking, and then started to laugh, if tired, and nearly silently. "No," the injured man went on insistently, trying to clarify, "I mean that, she should not have strained herself. The Caspian Sea!"

Was the Danube closer? Clarice thought about it for a moment - yeah, it was. Geography was something she knew really well, though in a fight like that she tended to use the first place that came to mind as opposed to what was closer. She shrugged, "It's all the same to me. I could have sent them to LA or Antarctica for the same energy I used. I wanted them someplace out of the way. That seemed as good a place as any."

"But-"

"Hush," the older man said, patting his shoulder again. "Better times to be chivalrous. Like with that pretty barmaid - you know, the blonde? You can show off the leg. Get sympathy." The younger man's eyes were closing, but he mustered up another faint smile in response to that.

It was kind of cute really, these Hungarian police trying to look out for her, "Anyways, you're all invited to my party next week. Here," she fished a piece of paper out of a pocket and a pen, writing down her email, "Send me an email and I'll give you the details. Not sure where it will be yet, but I'm sort of thinking England right now. Bring your barmaid if you want," she said to the guy she was working on.

---

There was someone standing at the side of her bed. That someone was wearing beaten-up, scorched X-Men leathers, several visible bandages where they'd been cut away, and a sardonic smile. "You know," Nathan said, gazing down at Zanne, "usually it's me who gets my brain broken. Were you jealous of my fun? Honing in on my schtick?"

"Jealous, ha," Zanne snickered and then winced. "Owwwww. See what you made me do?"

"Yeah. No moving, or loud thinking. Your brain will thank you." Nathan reached out a hand and laid it briefly on her forehead, studiously not meeting her eyes to see what kind of look she might be giving him. He concentrated, glad that one of the few telepathic tricks he was really practiced in was a fast, effective, and moderately-long-lasting method of pain relief.

Psis are awfully touchy-feely for brainy people. she thought muzzily as Nate's warm hand came down over her and the pain began to ease. "Are you sure that Moira is the doctor in the family?"

"Nonsense," Nathan said crisply, "this is Mistra field medicine in action. Just be glad I've never had the opportunity to use the 'You will run and fight all night and no, it doesn't matter that you haven't slept in 72 hours' trick on you." He was scanning her as he spoke, and reached the conclusion that she was going to have this headache for a while. Benedek had managed to land a couple of good ones on her.

"I'll just keep my tinfoil cap on, then. Thanks for the warning." She squinted up at him, the light still causing her brain to shrivel, although decidedly less so now. He looked like hell, which wasn't all that unexpected. She layered some teasing into her voice, or tried to. "Do I dare ask what happened to you? Or was it just the usual?" Moira must go half out of her mind anytime he went out in the field, wondering if he was going make it home in one piece or if they were going to have to start talking to Forge about bionic prosthetics. Which, on reflection, was a rather alarming concept. The last thing the world needed was Nate running around with semi-indestructible and disposable body parts.

"Factory got a little hairy," he said quietly, in deference to her headache, and withdrew his hand. He pulled over a nearby stool, sinking down on it. "Good news is, we've taken a scary number of Preservers and pseudo-Askani into custody. Bad news is that Trask got away."

"She seems to have a gift for that." Which was perhaps an understatement, but Zanne didn't quite feel up to analyzing that thought further. "We'll get her sooner or later. Hopefully sooner." She propped herself up a little higher on the bed. "So tell me something good. Or at least amusing."

A strange, ghostly smile tugged at Nathan's lip. "I saved a lost sheep today?" he said, his voice oddly hoarse, suddenly. "Finally. Although I don't think she's going to thank me for it."

"Give her some time. It'll look better to her six months out. Or longer. You do seem to inspire strong reactions from women."

"Smartass," Nathan scoffed softly. "Go to sleep. You may feel marginally less like removing your own head in the morning."

"Awwww, promise?" Zanne wrinkled her nose at him and snuggled back into the pillows. "Thanks, Nate."

---

Angelo had been unconscious since arriving at the hospital, the backlash from his shields breaking having hit him hard. His eyes cracked open now, though, and he peered at the man sitting beside the bed.

"...not a word."

The snort from Nathan was very soft. "Oh, there will be many words," he murmured. "Many, many words. But not until your head stops feeling like it's going to explode."

"Yeah", came the wry and equally quiet response, Angelo moving his head as little as possible - which was really not at all, since he'd already been facing Nathan. He wasn't even going to try projecting. "Guess now I know how it feels."

"You and half the rest of the team," Nathan said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know whether to gloat or hold your hands and empathize." A pause. "Considering the running joke," he went on, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards, "I'm strongly leaning towards the gloating."

"Empathy too?" was the hopeful suggestion. "I'll let you gloat if there's empathy too." ...it was possible he was still a little out of it.

"Oh, there can be empathy too." Just as he'd done with Suzanne, Nathan reached out, laying a hand on Angelo's forehead and doing what he could to help dull the pain a little further. "You're not quite as badly off as Zanne. I think your defenses are marginally better."

Angelo relaxed into the hand, just a bit, knowing what it was there for. "Guy panicked", he said slowly. "I think Zanne wasn't expectin' him to lash out like that... or, yeah, maybe. She never learned the Askani stuff."

"You realize the 'guy' is worth about twelve of the terrorists we picked up at the factory?" Nathan murmured. "That's the bastard who set all this up. I heard something about potential treason charges, already..." He skimmed lightly through Angelo's memories of the confrontation at the Parliament building. "This is twice that it's been a damned good thing that we left a rear guard behind. You all handled that just about perfectly."

That got a faint careful smile. "Good. Traitor's the word for him, he needs to go down. An' thanks."

Nathan withdrew his hand finally. "You need to get some sleep," he said. "We're flying back tomorrow. You want me to make sure Amanda knows you're okay?"

"Yes", Angelo said instantly. "She'll've seen the news, she knows we're here... tell her when I'll be home, too."

"I'll do it as soon as I'm not longer sitting in a hospital." Nathan watched Angelo's eyelids grow heavy, and didn't volunteer anything further. Conversation was not what the boy needed right now, but he did intend to stay until he was asleep.

---

Nathan was somewhat mollified by the fact that Haller was awake, sipping on what smelled like tea, and looking relatively alert. Even if the lights in the room were suspiciously dimmed. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, one eyebrow raised and a very eloquent look on his face. "So," he said to his friend. "How's the narrowly bullet-free head?"

Jim looked up at him from the edge of the bed with slightly bloodshot eyes. "Immune to sarcasm, considering Alvarez punched us so hard Davey felt it. You'll have to wait your turn to insult my intelligence. Right now it's mine, but Jack's trying to line-jump."

"I bet he is." Nathan came the rest of the way into the room, sitting down heavily in the chair beside the bed. Damn, but he could use a bed of his own right now, seriously... "You realize that if I'd had to go home and tell your father you'd gotten yourself killed, I would have searched the world for the means to resurrect you, just so that I could kill you again myself?"

Jim sighed and lowered the mug, grasping it between his knees in both hands. "It was stupid. I should have just let Jack slam her with TK and sat on her until it was over. I know it was stupid. But christ, she pissed me off." The telepath glared at the contents of the mug. "After all the crap she's put people through, I wanted her to see how it felt to have her mind invaded for once. I figured I was about due the chance to pull a hypocrisy card."

"Never mind hypocrisy," Nathan pointed out. "I'm most peeved at you for falling for the exact same thing that got Frost taken down just as hard in Wakanda. I mean, you realize you are never going to hear the end of this from Scott. He's going to have you reviewing old mission reports as if you were a trainee again."

"Yes, I know," Jim said flatly. "I was too busy being self-righteous to be careful. We forgot about Alvarez. And we've never been on the receiving end of a combat-telepath with Askani techniques. It's not going to happen again." He took a deep breath, then added in a calmer voice, "And since it's not actually you we're pissed off at, I'm going to dial it back now. Sorry."

"I'm sure if you asked Jean and I nicely, we'd agree to ambush you periodically." Nathan paused a beat. "It might even be fun."

"Maybe. That, or I have Betsy knife me until I develop a resistance." The telepath rubbed the back of his head. "I know Trask got away. But we have Alvarez, right?"

"We have Alvarez." Nathan paused, swallowing for a moment. "And Alvarez has no conditioning. Apparently the Trojan Horse still works perfectly well on the people it was meant for."

"Good. That's good." Jim hesitated for a moment. "Do you know the worst part? When I went into Trask's mind, even when I threatened to dig . . . there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was trying to shake her up, just to get her to react -- and nothing even seemed to touch her." He raised his odd-colored eyes to the older man's. "Nathan, I swear . . . even in the middle of her mind, I couldn't feel anything of her at all."

Nathan was silent for a long moment. "I saw something of her, the one time I was in her mind," he said. "It was when I made her think Askani was there with us. Pure, unadulterated joy."

Jim stared into the mug again, jaw working. "I wonder," he said at last, "how a person gets to that point. So filled up with what they've gotten from others that there's nothing left of them. Do you think it's because her power keeps throwing her into other people's minds, or was there something else? Something in her life that would make her choose someone else's future over her own present?"

Nathan leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. "She's gone past the point where I care to understand, or empathize." His voice wasn't quite cold, or at least, the coldness in it wasn't directed at Jim. "Done too much damage. There are families all over this city that are going to be mourning people tonight."

"I know. And I don't think I can forgive her, either. But I would still like to know why. If this was something that could have been prevented, or if it was just too late from the start." Jim kneaded the mug in his hands. "I would like to understand. If only because Trask shouldn't be the only one looking toward the future."